So remember how back in November I was all "Oh, I don't want to talk about the wedding all the time" and acting like I had other things on my mind?
Yeah, that's done. The calendar flipped over to 2006 and wham, it's all wedding, all the time in this pretty little head of mine. The pretty little head that spent the evening with a tiara placed on top of it, no less. (Speaking of the tiara, every woman should have a tiara. It brightens one's day immensely.)
One of the more serious things that is part of this whole wedding shebang is my name, and the changing thereof. I had no idea so many people think that changing my name is some kind of betrayal of the feminist movement. But they do, and man, I really hope none of them decide to belittle my choices.
Here's the thing. The last name I currently have comes from my father. The father I do not speak with, have no relationship with, and will probably never see again. I don't know anyone on that side of the family, and quite honestly, I think of myself as an H, my mother's maiden name. Those are the aunts and uncles and cousins I count as my family, even though we don't have the same name. I always have had this view of things; I told my mom once when I was little that it would be okay for her to change her name back. She didn't, since it was the early 80's and the single mother thing was still new and she wanted to make sure she had the same last name as me.
And now I am marrying a man I love enough to share my life with and we're going to be a team and guess what? We're going to have the same last name, and it's going to be his. (We briefly contemplated throwing off the patriarchy completely and combining his mother's maiden name and my mother's maiden name for our Shiny New Name, but then we decided that would be too much trouble. Because we are lazy.) It's going to be his because I have no attachment to the last name I currently have attached to my first name.
And man, it's going to be a pain in the ASS to do that name change. Ugh, the paperwork and the shuttling from the county recorder's office to the Social Security Office to the DMV. The insurance and the credit cards and the loans and the work records. That's how much I want to do this. It may have been different, if I had research published under my name, or books or poems. Then I might keep it, professionally at least. I totally understand why people keep their names, and I applaud them for doing it.
But come on, don't tell me I'm not a feminist just because I am changing my name. If anything, I'm being a true feminist by making the choice that's right for me, despite outside opinions and societal pressure.
Most people wouldn't call me a feminist, I know. After all, how could someone who regularly refers to herself as a princess, freely admits to using her breasts to distract on occasion, loves wearing pretty dresses and high heels and is wearing a veil AND a white poofy dress for her wedding possibly be a feminist? And I'm not a feminist in the traditional sense, I know. I don't consider myself equal to men, I consider myself every bit as good and smart and strong as men, but in a totally different way. In my house, chores are shared, but I do all the hanging of shelves and installing of ceiling fans. I know how to change my car's air filter and I was the first one to notice when Kevin's car started hiccuping. The Volvo YCC makes my head hurt, I'm ardently pro-choice and pro-civil rights, and I know what offsides means in football. I also do not want to be drafted, love buying makeup, and call myself a secretary with no shame. Kevin pays when we go out to eat and I do all the cooking, but I have no problem killing bugs.
So yeah, I'm a feminist in the sense that I believe women are different, and more awesome, because we are way prettier to look at naked.
But I'm changing my name, and I'm proud to do so. No telling me I'm wrong, okay? Because I can totally kick your ass, without the tiara falling off.
Yeah, that's done. The calendar flipped over to 2006 and wham, it's all wedding, all the time in this pretty little head of mine. The pretty little head that spent the evening with a tiara placed on top of it, no less. (Speaking of the tiara, every woman should have a tiara. It brightens one's day immensely.)
One of the more serious things that is part of this whole wedding shebang is my name, and the changing thereof. I had no idea so many people think that changing my name is some kind of betrayal of the feminist movement. But they do, and man, I really hope none of them decide to belittle my choices.
Here's the thing. The last name I currently have comes from my father. The father I do not speak with, have no relationship with, and will probably never see again. I don't know anyone on that side of the family, and quite honestly, I think of myself as an H, my mother's maiden name. Those are the aunts and uncles and cousins I count as my family, even though we don't have the same name. I always have had this view of things; I told my mom once when I was little that it would be okay for her to change her name back. She didn't, since it was the early 80's and the single mother thing was still new and she wanted to make sure she had the same last name as me.
And now I am marrying a man I love enough to share my life with and we're going to be a team and guess what? We're going to have the same last name, and it's going to be his. (We briefly contemplated throwing off the patriarchy completely and combining his mother's maiden name and my mother's maiden name for our Shiny New Name, but then we decided that would be too much trouble. Because we are lazy.) It's going to be his because I have no attachment to the last name I currently have attached to my first name.
And man, it's going to be a pain in the ASS to do that name change. Ugh, the paperwork and the shuttling from the county recorder's office to the Social Security Office to the DMV. The insurance and the credit cards and the loans and the work records. That's how much I want to do this. It may have been different, if I had research published under my name, or books or poems. Then I might keep it, professionally at least. I totally understand why people keep their names, and I applaud them for doing it.
But come on, don't tell me I'm not a feminist just because I am changing my name. If anything, I'm being a true feminist by making the choice that's right for me, despite outside opinions and societal pressure.
Most people wouldn't call me a feminist, I know. After all, how could someone who regularly refers to herself as a princess, freely admits to using her breasts to distract on occasion, loves wearing pretty dresses and high heels and is wearing a veil AND a white poofy dress for her wedding possibly be a feminist? And I'm not a feminist in the traditional sense, I know. I don't consider myself equal to men, I consider myself every bit as good and smart and strong as men, but in a totally different way. In my house, chores are shared, but I do all the hanging of shelves and installing of ceiling fans. I know how to change my car's air filter and I was the first one to notice when Kevin's car started hiccuping. The Volvo YCC makes my head hurt, I'm ardently pro-choice and pro-civil rights, and I know what offsides means in football. I also do not want to be drafted, love buying makeup, and call myself a secretary with no shame. Kevin pays when we go out to eat and I do all the cooking, but I have no problem killing bugs.
So yeah, I'm a feminist in the sense that I believe women are different, and more awesome, because we are way prettier to look at naked.
But I'm changing my name, and I'm proud to do so. No telling me I'm wrong, okay? Because I can totally kick your ass, without the tiara falling off.
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